The title is certainly intriguing, suggesting something ultra sophisticated, and we can guess that 'discreet' will be exposed as 'hypocritical,' and the charm will be superficial. In this we are not disappointed. I should also say this reminds me of the theater of the absurd that had its heyday in the postwar period in Europe and the US with Rhinoceros, Six Characters in Search of an Author, Waiting For Godot, The Birthday Party, etc., and then more or less disappeared, Roberto Benigni's recent cinematic venture, La Vita e Bella (1997) notwithstanding. Most critics however would refer to this work as an example of surrealism, an aesthetic movement in art, theater, cinema, etc. that grew out of Dadaism in the twenties. But the theater of the absurd is later, taking its rationale from the existential work of Camus--see especially his collection of essays, The Myth of Sisyphus (1942)--and Sartre, while getting its name from a book entitled, The Theatre of the Absurd (1960) by Martin Esslin. Regardless of how we tag this, Spanish/French director Luis Buñuel's treatment is indeed charming and funny.
Fernando Rey stars as a diplomat from the country of 'Miranda' who, along with his five constant friends, cannot seem to ever finish a meal. They are the bourgeoisie who are discreet in their sexual activities and their illegalities (Rey's character apparently smuggles cocaine) while maintaining a sort of absurd decorum in which good manners are paramount. A café runs out of tea, well, they will content themselves with coffee. No coffee, well, water will be fine. Guests arrive a day ahead of time, well, we'll go out instead, won't you join us. When a company of soldiers on maneuvers shows up at the house just as they are sitting down to dinner, they are invited to join them, and when the police come to arrest Rey, they all politely intercede only to follow him to jail. When the one finds that his wife is in his friend's bedroom, he is too polite to object.
Buñuel's technique runs realistic scenes into dream sequences without warning. When a soldier sits down to tea to tell his story of horror, all listen politely. When, for the umpteenth time they are à la table, a curtain parts and they find themselves on stage in front of an audience, they discreetly excuse themselves, saying they have forgotten their lines.
Of course Buñuel must have his little satire of the church, and here he uses a monseigneur who becomes a gardener who hears a last rites confession that reveals that the confessor murdered his, the monseigneur's, parents many years ago. The monseigneur politely and without being ruffled, allows that Jesus forgives him and leaves him in a state of grace, which soothes his conscience as he then picks up a shotgun....
So seamlessly does Buñuel weave his tapestry, that it's sometimes hard to tell when reality ends and the dreams begin, but that is perhaps the point. Our dreams are absurd of course, but then again so is our reality.
(Note: Over 500 of my movie reviews are now available in my book "Cut to the Chaise Lounge or I Can't Believe I Swallowed the Remote!" Get it at Amazon!)
Fernando Rey stars as a diplomat from the country of 'Miranda' who, along with his five constant friends, cannot seem to ever finish a meal. They are the bourgeoisie who are discreet in their sexual activities and their illegalities (Rey's character apparently smuggles cocaine) while maintaining a sort of absurd decorum in which good manners are paramount. A café runs out of tea, well, they will content themselves with coffee. No coffee, well, water will be fine. Guests arrive a day ahead of time, well, we'll go out instead, won't you join us. When a company of soldiers on maneuvers shows up at the house just as they are sitting down to dinner, they are invited to join them, and when the police come to arrest Rey, they all politely intercede only to follow him to jail. When the one finds that his wife is in his friend's bedroom, he is too polite to object.
Buñuel's technique runs realistic scenes into dream sequences without warning. When a soldier sits down to tea to tell his story of horror, all listen politely. When, for the umpteenth time they are à la table, a curtain parts and they find themselves on stage in front of an audience, they discreetly excuse themselves, saying they have forgotten their lines.
Of course Buñuel must have his little satire of the church, and here he uses a monseigneur who becomes a gardener who hears a last rites confession that reveals that the confessor murdered his, the monseigneur's, parents many years ago. The monseigneur politely and without being ruffled, allows that Jesus forgives him and leaves him in a state of grace, which soothes his conscience as he then picks up a shotgun....
So seamlessly does Buñuel weave his tapestry, that it's sometimes hard to tell when reality ends and the dreams begin, but that is perhaps the point. Our dreams are absurd of course, but then again so is our reality.
(Note: Over 500 of my movie reviews are now available in my book "Cut to the Chaise Lounge or I Can't Believe I Swallowed the Remote!" Get it at Amazon!)